


To The Grinch Who Stole My Heart

by helxium



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Reader is a pervert, Reader-Insert, and a simp, my sorry attempt at a romcom, title was loosely inspired by that one netflix movie, you know the one ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23732446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helxium/pseuds/helxium
Summary: P.S.—your thighs are still godly.[Kageyama/Simp!Reader]
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	1. your first confession is a juice wrld verse

Kageyama Tobio has the social skills of an amoeba.

An amoeba that had been traumatized by betrayal on the volley court and was pretty much only equipped to deal with snide remarks from sneering blond beanpoles and an automatic pummel response to overzealous gingers who couldn’t receive spikes aimed with the dexterity of a ten-year-old.

Kageyama Tobio, naturally, doesn't know squat about girls. Uncharted territory. A mystery, for all he figured. Sure he’d grown up with an older sister, but she also quit volleyball in the tenth grade because she refused to cut her hair and Kageyama—well, frankly, he thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to cross Miwa.

His last formal interaction with the opposite sex had ended with glares from unknown girls and hate mail shoved in his middle school locker after he’d rejected the chocolates offered to him by a classmate (whom he’d had no prior interaction with before, mind you) because his coach had put the regulars on a dietary regimen. At his simple “no thanks”, the girl (was it Marin? Maiko? Maria?) had promptly burst into tears, blubbered something in semblance to “I-I know you don’t like me, but the least you could’ve done is accepted it!” and ran off with two angry friends in tow.

Girls, frankly, stupefied Kageyama, and he was fine to let it remain so—it wasn’t like he needed to understand the inner workings of a woman’s psyche to better his volleyball. Hell, he barely grasped the non-threatening social cues of his teammates’ locker-room banter.

So when a girl he’d never seen before (he gathered she was a freshman, though, since she seemed to be acquainted with Tsukishima who, strangely enough, was staring at her with eyes so bugged-out you’d think he was having a stroke) corners him during practice a week into the school year, he has absolutely no idea what to make of it. None. _Nada_. Hinata, the idiot, stares at him with wide eyes behind the opposite leg of the net while that bastard Tsukishima and his friend stand off to the side gossiping. It’s strangely quiet for once, free of the sound of rubber hitting palms and gym floors. Somewhere else, he thinks he hears Tanaka crying.

The girl smiles at him. It’s then that Kageyama’s primal instincts roar to life, and he feels the _strangest_ sense of imminent danger. Her eyelids flutter so rapidly he thinks she might be exhibiting symptoms of a seizure.

When he just stares at her, she frowns, brows furrowing. She looks startled, like she’d expected something different. Kageyama wonders if she suffered from episodic breakdowns.

“Do you need something from me?” He finally asks. The girl smoothes her expression, megawatt smile slipping back in place. She had a fast, easy smile, almost commercial-like. She lowers her eyelids so her eyes are half open and lets out a noise that reminds him of a starving cat.

“I like you,” she says simply. She waits, smile triumphant. He blinks. She blinks back. He hears one of his senpais (Sugawara?) coughing.

“I like you,” she clarifies again, more incredulous this time. It makes him feel stupid, like she’s telling him something so obvious and he’s still missing the point. “Go out with me?”

“...who are you?”

Hinata chokes. Tsukishima bursts into laughter. Tanaka is on the floor, weeping. Nishinoya screams something about being an ungrateful bastard. The third years and Yamaguchi are at a shocked standstill. From the corner of his eye, he spots another unfamiliar girl—must be her friend—who gasps, hand flying to her mouth.

The girl doesn’t burst into tears, nor does she look affronted. Instead, she tilts her head, looking as utterly dumbfounded as he felt the entirety of their conversation.

“I just confessed to you,” she states, blinking slowly. As if she can’t believe his response (or lack thereof).

Kageyama frowns. After what seems like an eternity, he replies, in the flattest, most uninflected voice his teammates had heard him use:

“Sorry, I don’t go out with strangers.”

Leaving a shocked, gobsmacked, open-mouthed rejectee in Karasuno’s shittiest gym gaping as he continued practicing his serves.


	2. Love is a Six-Pack

“ _Heart been broke so many times ah, I, don’t know what to_ —WHY!”

You slam your head down on the currently shared (and soon to be broken) desk, feeling its legs rattle under the impact. Rika lets out an irritated noise across from you, having barely managed to save her stuffed bread from being flattened under your forehead. Rika liked to pretend she cared, but you know she won’t put up with your moping (and danger to her lunch) for long.

But at the moment, your bruised heart needs it.

“What did I do wrong?” You moan, slamming your head down repeatedly over her half-finished math homework. At some point, you start to taste graphite on your lips. “Why, why, why, WHY couldn’t he give me a chance? We could’ve been so beautiful together!”

“You’re revolting,” says Rika, sipping her green tea like an old geezer. She regards you apathetically, staring at you the same way she did when you tried bonding with her in the third grade over your shared love of dogs, except Rika had a poodle and you had a rabid prairie dog you’d kidnapped from the poor people’s park.

You shake your head mournfully, lips jutting out in a pout.

“He was my first! The first real crush I’ve had in my life! The first guy I ever confessed to! He was supposed to accept and we were supposed to kiss under the bleachers and suck face in the hallway—”

Rika gags,

“—and he was supposed to be the Peter to my Lara Jean! Just less Caucasian! And with less baggage,” you add, thinking of a foreign actress with immaculate eyebrows and brown curls.

“I hate to break it to you, but lacrosse isn’t exactly men’s volleyball,” Rika says dryly. You frown, kicking your chair back to sulk.

“D-don’t mind, [Surname]-san!” 

You raise your head dully to stare at the ginger, who was still a little (a lot) confused with the whole ordeal, but nevertheless had spirit. After all, it _had_ been Hinata who you’d confronted prior to your confession, befriending him (cornering him against the vending machine during lunch) in efforts to get him to divulge pivotal information about his best friend (he looked miffed when you called him that, listing a string of complaints that seemed better fit for an angry McDonald’s customer than a wingman).

(It made you even more smitten)

“If only you were 17.8 centimeters taller,” you mourn, oddly specific, “and tall, dark, and leggy, but not too leggy,” you quickly correct, thinking of Tsukishima and his spider-limbs, “—and that perfect in-between of muscular but not too muscular that high school girls gravitate towards after they’ve ditched their skinny white boy phase—”

“Leggy doesn’t want you,” Tsukishima sneers, cutting off Hinata who was in mid-protest; something about how he was still a growing boy. He dumps his half-eaten bento and chopsticks on the table behind Rika’s (somehow, you weren’t surprised to find out he was the type to stay in his own seat during lunch), and Yamaguchi, the absolute fucking _tool_ , snickers. You squint at him.

“Now, now, no need to be bitter,” you say calmly. “I know you have a crush on me, but friends support friends—you gotta learn to live and let go.”

“Do you have brain damage?” Tsukishima asks at the same Rika mutters, “you’re one to talk.” Yamaguchi looks personally offended you would go as far as to even insinuate his lord and savior— _Tsukki_ would ever step so far out of his league (stoop as low) as to harbor romantic feelings for you.

“It’s alright, darling,” you assure, making a beeline for the abandoned octopus sausages Tsukishima Mama had labored to make, “I’m sure you’ll find someone who appreciates your skinny white boy aesthetic—ACK! That hurt,” you whine, rubbing your fingers from where Tsukishima had slapped them with his chopsticks.

“I don’t want your dumbass germs contaminating my tupperware,” he says, and you giggle because he’d said ‘tupperware’. What a funny word. His frown deepens. “That aside, why’re the two of you here? Couldn’t make friends in your own class?”

“H-hey! It’s not like I came here of my own free will!” Hinata snaps, because it had been you that had texted a dramatic ‘SOS, might kms if i’m alone, is this what heartbreak feels like :’(’ to the “operation: cuff the v-ball hottie” groupchat (with an added ‘u 2 hinata unless u wanna be locked in the cupboard’).

“Hey!” You sandwich Hinata under your arm, ignoring his sounds of protest as he’s smothered in your tatas. “Stop bullying my son. In fact, never talk to me or my son again.” You make an ‘I’m watching you’ motion with your fingers.

Tsukishima stares at you oddly before resuming his incel brooding—aka chin on hand, eyes narrowed in the expression of a true asshole. “So?”

You tilt you head. Vaguely, you hear Hinata gasp, “[Surname]—can’t—breathe—”, but you chalk that down to the boy’s flair for dramatics (“His face is turning puce, [Name],” Rika comments).

“So?”

“Why the ki—that guy?” He stares at you like a scientist would after they’d just bred a cross between an anteater and an ostrich.

You blink.

“Ah, that’s right.” Rika snaps out of her green tea stupor, smacking her fist down on her palm. Beside you, Hinata gasps for breath, finally having escaped your death grip, and lets out wheezing noises. “Do tell us how you came to thirst after this mediocre jock who looks like he makes babies cry for fun. I was beginning to worry you were only attracted to South Korean popstars with drug allegations.”

You gasp, personally offended.

“Take that back! It’s all lies! My sweet Wonho—bless his pretty ab—I mean face—has been cleared of all charges! Allkpop said so!” You dig your phone out of your bra and shake it in her face. Rika slaps it away. “And if you must know, I’ve decided to broaden my horizons. There may not be any six-pack boys in Karasuno, but I’ve played enough idol raising games to know who has potential.”

You beam, looking proud of yourself. Hinata looks dumbfounded. Rika’s fingers twitch; she wants to hit you.

“[Name],” Rika says slowly, “tell me you didn’t just happen to see his shirt ride up one day, see the outline of a two-pack, and turn into a disgusting simp after having a wet dream of him beefed up post a three-year timeskip.”

You don’t respond.

“[Name].” Her voice is dangerous. “What’s his name?”

“...”

“ _Tell me his name_.”

“...Kazuhito Tobirama.”

“...isn’t he from Naruto?” Hinata wonders, while Tsukishima snorts in laughter. You glance down at your fingers, finally having the common sense to be flustered. Rika looks like she wants to go back in time and coerce your mother into an abortion.

“It wasn’t his shirt,” you mumble, twiddling your index fingers together. “...it was his shorts.”

Tsukishima guffaws. Even Yamaguchi looks disappointed, and for some reason, that makes you feel like you’ve sunk to an all-time low (and that’s a lot coming from you).

“You confessed to a guy because you saw his upper thighs?” Okay, who let blondie’s follower have opinions?

“I knew it, any admirer of that guy has to have brain damage.” It’s Tsukishima’s chortle that sends you over the edge.

“Hey—keep laughing and I’ll German suplex you into next year, you myopic spaghetti noodle,” you threaten, flinging a (very used, very ugly) eraser at the disrespectful-as-hell blond. You watch in exaggerated dismay as he dodges, sneering, and allows the eraser to make a parabolic peak so perfect your math teacher would cry before bouncing comically off a black-haired head.

Hinata gasps. Rika’s mouth curves into an ‘o’. You stare dumbfounded as a pair of heavy, glaring eyes bore into you like a knife through raw tofu. Except the tofu is your heart, which, oddly enough, beats faster instead of bleeding at the entry.

“K-Kageyama?”

You _melt_. A shiver runs down your spine, and you can’t stop the blush and smile that races across your face at the sight of him.

 _God_ , he really is pretty.

The moment is shattered by Tsukishima’s “nice kill”, which turns your future boyfriend’s eyes to him. His glare turns progressively more violent, if possible, and you cry because why can’t it be _you_ who’s on the receiving end of that—

“What’re you laughing at?” He growls, a sound that makes your toes curl. Rika’s face pinches in disgust at your expression.

“Nothing his majesty should concern himself over,” Tsukishima sneers. Then, he gets an evil glint in his eyes. “I wondered what kind of person would be screwed enough in the head to fall for a control-freak like you, but it turns out I was right—she’s brain dead.”

The room’s temperature drops. Both Yamaguchi and Hinata break out in cold sweat. Rika mentally calculates the time it would take to jump over to the exit.

Kageyama stalks across the classroom, furious, and reaches to grab his taller teammate by the collar when—

“Do you have a worship kink?”

He stops, staring at the dreamy, heavy-lidded face of… who was she again? He could’ve sworn he’d—

“I never considered myself much of a sub, but for you, I’m willing to do anything,”

You lean in front of him, face so close he can smell the scent of your shampoo and lipgloss.

“ _—dar~ling_.”

He remembers. He wishes he doesn’t, because now he’s just as lost as the day you cornered him in the gym. Again, he has no idea what you’re talking about, and his brain gears for an automatic flight response.

You blink. It’s that expression again—that look of utter confusion between the glares and misplaced anger. It reminds you of when you accidentally boarded the wrong flight and ended up asking for directions in English at a foreign airport. You were in Mexico.

Thankfully (not), you’re not one to let one (million) failure stop you, so you try again.

You flutter your lashes like Cosmopolitan had advised, smile as demurely as you can (your smiles are surprisingly sweet in spite of your lascivious attitude), and purr, “I’ll do whatever you want me to… _my_ _king_.”

 _Shit_ is the only word that goes through the heads of Kageyama’s teammates. Only one of them is amused.

Kageyama’s scowl intensifies. The crease between his brows deepens as his brows draw further in together; is this his annoyed face? Either way, your heart jumps at the attention. You begin feeling dizzy.

“Don’t call me king,” he says, then turns a complete 90-degrees. Your smile freezes. He grabs Hinata by the head, snapping something about practice, and abandons you for the second time.

The sound of Hinata’s complaints and Kageyama’s insults disappear as he’s dragged down the hallway. The room is dead silent.

“...what a dick,” Rika comments, only half half-heartedly. Mostly because she knows your antics are ridiculous and that a normal person would rightfully be freaked out, but also because she thinks Kageyama is a dick.

“Don’t mind, [Surname].” Even Yamaguchi feels bad enough to comfort you. He nudges Tsukishima who glares at him, whispering, “Tsukki! Say something! You were the one that insulted her in front of Kageyama.”

Tsukishima looks like he’d been forced to suck a lemon.

“...the king isn’t worth your time,” he grunts, if only begrudgingly. He eyes your still-standing form warily—he can’t see your face, but for some reason, his stomach twists. Maybe he had pushed it too far with “brain-dead”. 

When you don’t respond, Rika re-stresses, “ _[Name]_.”

“...I…”

“Is she going to cry?” Yamaguchi whispers.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“I…”

You clench your skirt, head bowed low. Your nails dig hard into your palm.

“...I think I’m in love.”

…

“What.” Rika says flatly.

You turn to face them. Your eyes are dazed, lips curled into a drunken smile. You have a nosebleed. Which should be concerning, but it’s not because it’s you.

“Did you see the way he looked at me?” You drool. “His glare, sweet baby Buddha. It felt like I was being shot in the chest—”

“He looked like he wanted to shoot you! In the chest!” Rika cries.

“—but it felt so, so good. I want him to look at me like that again. Call me naughty. Step on me. Tell me I’ve been a bad girl for calling him king—”

“This porno is the worst.” Tsukishima looks like he’s going to puke.

“—and choke me. Preferably with his thighs.” Your eyes glaze over. Rika stares at you.

“You don’t deserve rights.” You really don't, but you decide it's best to ignore her.

“It’s final—Kageyama Shigeo has to be mine.”

The corners of your lips lower a fraction. You hear Rika telling you to do the world a favor and die, but you pay her no mind. 

Your mind flashes back to his (adorable) look of confusion. Putting two and two together, you realize why your efforts were in vain. The flaw in your perfectly-executed, rehearsed flirting. It was so simple—why hadn’t you noticed it before?

It's time for a change in plans.


End file.
